Detained Attraction
by Basmathgirl
Summary: What if many years ago, Peter and Nellie had their first meeting as sixteen year olds at a school detention; and liked some of what they saw.


**Prompt: **Peter Vincent and Nellie Bertram as close school friends, first perceived by** dreamerbee.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters, but I do have a strong connection to Nellie's home town of Basildon.

**A/N:** this was sitting on my hard drive doing nothing, so I'm posting it seeing as I've not felt like writing much lately and I'm unlikely to continue this story which I started after several misgivings about writing Nellie.

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**Detained Attraction**

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What at first promised to be a totally boring hour suddenly turned interesting. Peter spotted the girl as soon as she walked into the detention room; everything about her screamed for his attention, from her vibrant ginger hair, the fashionable makeup, the killer rack that her school blouse emphasised without meaning to, the short charcoal grey school skirt she confidently wore to show off her long lean legs, and her lively personality as she bounced into the room.

"Afternoon, Mr Hart," she cheerily greeted the teacher on duty. She liked him; he was always alright.

"Hello again, Nellie," Mr Hart returned the greeting. His glasses almost slipped off his pointy nose as he looked down at the register that sat on the large wooden desk before him and ticked off her name. "What did you do this time?"

"I left my book around my Nan's so I didn't hand the homework in on time," she readily supplied.

"No little brother to ruin it this time?" he wondered. "Or dog to chew it up?"

"Nah! I'd have to get one first for that to happen," she mused. "Where shall I sit?"

"Anywhere you like," Mr Hart answered, pointing vaguely towards an empty desk.

Nellie turned to face the room and swept her gaze over the possible spots. Her eyes considered the room thoughtfully, landing nowhere in particular when she only spotted one person from her year and she didn't know him although his form room was just down the corridor from hers. Nicola Terry had pointed him out a couple of days beforehand as being the new boy in 11G. Well, he wasn't all that bad looking up-close. Like loads of boys, he was lanky with floppy dark brown hair that almost covered his eyes, and a brooding temperament. Unlike most boys, he had large brown eyes full of pain. At least he wasn't overrun with acne like poor Philip Lloyd. Perhaps it would be fun to find out what he was like, she considered as she headed towards him.

She was heading towards him! Peter tried not to keep his attention locked on her, but she caught him looking; so in a way it was inevitable she would make her way over and plonk herself down onto the seat at the desk in front of him near the back wall.

Mr Hart sauntered over to make sure she was okay. "Have you brought a pen, Nellie?" he asked for something to say.

She smiled sweetly back. "Of course, thanks. Dunno about the Emo behind me though." She turned to flash Peter a consoling grin that said she didn't mean to insult him.

Peter didn't grin back. Why did they always think smiling at him would work in their favour? They were all a bunch of tossers! He was brought out of his scowling thoughts by Mr Hart asking if he had a pen too. As if he'd bother to carry a pen about!

"I've got a pen you can borrow, if you like," Nellie volunteered, hoping to crack a smile out of the new boy.

"Thanks," he sullenly replied as she placed a pen on the table top near his elbow. It was all the same to him.

They moved him to a new place, he tried to fit in, and then they moved him on. None of it made any sense and it didn't matter how hard he tried, he'd eventually get kicked out for some reason or other. This time was slightly different; Basildon Council saw him as a young adult now so they had put him in a shared house with three other teens in care. Some of the others got to see their real parents every now and then. He didn't; and would never do. Once he'd been passed their old house in Billericay on the bus, but that was the nearest he had got to his parents. He'd never even seen their grave during the intervening years. It felt like they'd been snatched and kept away.

Nobody else seemed to understand that one. When the money from the sale of the house in his trust fund came into his hands at the age of eighteen he would be off and out of this country forever as soon as he could book the ticket. Basildon had no hold on him anymore.

But the girl in front kept turning around and looking at him with shy glances as though she was interested. Was she? This day was starting to get better and better after a rubbish morning followed by a disastrous afternoon.

It didn't bother him in the slightest that he had been kept behind after school again. He had nowhere else to go, no friends longing for his presence, no girlfriend to hang about with; so sitting there writing a stupid little essay was no hardship. He could have said all he wanted in one simple sentence, but he knew from experience that they hated that sort of thing. They wanted personal expression and contemplation.

The girl in front chose that moment to turn round and asked him if he knew how to spell 'contrary'. How had she managed to work that into her answer? He attempted it, and then admitted he wasn't sure. Those blue eyes of hers seemed to pierce through him, pinning him to the chair as he squirmed under her scrutiny.

"Okay," she acknowledged, and then carried on writing.

He sat seething. She was probably one of those girls that had a fluffy pink pencil case chock-a-block full of felt tip pens, and bought their form tutor a present at Christmas. No, she didn't affect him, he thought as his gaze landed on her bare leg stuck out at an odd angle as she concentrated on her work.

Then her legs were brought together, gliding over one another in a way that looked both discreet and allowed her skirt to edge enticing up further.

"Peter!" Mr Hart called out to him to break his daze. "Keep your eyes on your work!"

"Yes, sir," Peter answered; and then pretended he wasn't watching her. Laying his head almost on the desk as he wrote meant that he had a wonderful view of her chest, rising up and down as she breathed in and out. If he let his imagination wander, he could almost see a peek of the edge of her bra through her school blouse. It was mesmerising.

He jumped when Mr Hart placed himself directly in front of him. "Is something wrong, Mr Hart?" he anxiously asked.

"Your essay," Mr Hart replied, pointing his index finger close to Peter's piece of paper. "Get on with it or you and I will be spending even more time together."

"Okay, sir," Peter complied, and started scribbling. Goodness knew what he wrote after that; it was all nonsense. Half his attention remained on the enticing female form in front of him and fantasising about slipping his hand inside the collar of that open blouse or underneath the hem of her skirt.

"Is it time to go yet, sir?" one boy near the front asked ten minutes later. "Only I've got to get down to my job in the market."

Mr Hart made a show of looking at his watch. "Okay, times up; you can all go. And make sure you hand me your paper, Gary."

The boy almost fled from the room, but Peter kept to his seat. He was in no hurry at all, and he secretly hoped to be able to talk with Nellie before she too disappeared out of the room. Should he attract her attention? Would she want to talk to him? There was only one way to find out.

So he stood, waving her pen between his fingers. "Erm. I have your pen," he stated, hoping he sounded remotely suave.

Nellie turned to look at him as she put her things away into her shoulder bag. "Thanks," she retorted, and held her hand out for it.

Or he could impress her? That might work, he decided. With a confident flick, he twirled the pen, and palmed it. A smug grin appeared on his face. "Come and get it," he invited her.

"You think you're so clever," she complained and stepped closer. "Give it back!"

"It's here." He smirked as he pointed at himself.

What exactly was he playing at, hiding her pen like that? "You prat!" she commented. "Stop mucking about."

This needed some damage control on his part, so he reached out and made the pen appear from behind her ear, ignoring her flinch away as he did so. "Here it is," he declared. Their nearness made his senses twitch, but he resisted the temptation to caress the soft skin or glorious ginger hair right in front of him.

She took the pen from his hand and scowled. Fortunately he stepped away from her personal space so she didn't feel inclined to thump him one.

"Is there a problem, Nellie?" Mr Hart loudly wondered as he finished packing up the papers the detention class had given in. The little encounter between the new boy and her was beginning to deeply concern him. Nellie Bertram may have a brash exterior but she was vulnerable underneath it all, and this Peter Vincent was an unknown quantity.

"No, not anymore," Nellie turned to confidently answer.

"If you're sure," Mr Hart sought to confirm, and then stood at the door, waiting for them both to leave before he could lock it. "Goodbye then."

"Bye!" Nellie called out as she quickly strode down the corridor.

What?! She was getting away and Peter hadn't made his move. He chased after her, only managing to catch her up as she reached the outer door. "Here, let me," he offered, holding the door open for her to pass through.

Nellie smiled her thanks. She then stopped once they were both in the outside world and asked him, "What was all that about?"

"What?" he feigned ignorance by replying, since he wasn't going to admit he liked the look of her even if his life depended on it.

"Don't give me that!" she sighed in exasperation. "The whole thing with hiding the pen... Do you think you're a magician?"

That stung! He'd been practising that trick like crazy ever since he'd seen it done by Paul Daniels and then found it in a library book. "I might be one day," he softly answered before letting his cloak of conceit reappear. "Do you want my autograph now, or shall we wait till later?"

"You're daft!" she laughed, and batted at his chest before realising what she'd done and shirked away. "I've got to go."

"Wait!" he called after her, and was surprised when she did. Erm, what should he say now that she'd stopped? "I'm sorry about the pen. Perhaps I could…?"

"What? What could you do?" she asked, intrigued to know what line he'd come out with next. He was certainly proving to be interesting.

"Okay, I don't know," he confessed, and she laughed. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry, and doing it in a really bad way."

"Appallingly bad," she agreed. "Next you'll be asking me to go for a coffee."

"Well, I could… if you wanted to," he stammered, "and if I had any money to buy you one."

"You're poor too?" she wondered, relieved to find someone else with a lack of personal funds. "One day I'll have a job that pays well. I've had enough of being poor. It stinks!"

It certainly did. Peter didn't say anything about his own ambitions, to escape and earn a decent wage; or even mentioned his current situation where he pretended he didn't have to have free school meals or a clothing allowance. Instead he felt that here was a kindred spirit.

Taking in a deep breath, he made his move. "I could walk you home, if you like," he offered.

Her keen gaze weighed him up. She wasn't influenced by his gorgeous chocolate brown eyes or those long lashes; not at all. "Alright then, but no getting ideas."

Too late, he thought. "Of course not," he agreed.

As they walked in the direction of her home it became increasingly obvious that she'd have to make the conversation between them work after what had been a promising start after they had left the school gates behind. "So… do you like being at Basildon County High?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's just like everywhere else I've been."

That was a surprise to her. "You've been to other schools then?"

"Lots," he admitted. "I get moved on each time after a while."

"That can't be easy," she sympathised.

"You get used to it," he tried to answer nonchalantly. "What sort of music do you listen to?" he asked to change the subject and find out more about her. He liked her choices and they happily chatted about their musical tastes.

Unfortunately, Peter ended up walking sullenly beside her. His good mood had been broken by some idiot on a passing bike who had shouted out "Got yourself a new boyfriend? Watch out, he's even weirder than you!" at them.

"Are you still worrying about that prat down by the corner?" Nellie eventually asked Peter.

"No," he lied.

"You don't have to walk with me," she offered, "I can get home okay from here and you won't be hassled anymore."

That was nice of her, he thought; and did his best to smile encouragingly back. "No, that's okay. This isn't out of my way and I said I'd do this."

Nellie suddenly stopped, drew out a key, and turned right towards a house. It was a fairly unremarkable dwelling, he noted. Like every other house on the street it was a three-bedroomed two storey house with a short path, a smattering of grass in the front as part of the open plan gardens, and a canopy over the front door. "Hello!" she called out to someone as she entered. "Come in," she invited Peter as he stood anxiously contemplating the situation.

It wasn't often that he got to walk into someone's home these days, but this was obviously somewhere that wasn't set up to greet newcomers. There was no welcoming rug by the front door, no carpet in the hallway, just the basic tiles laid down by Basildon Corporation when it was built, and the paintwork around the doors needing touching up. 'Bare' was one way of describing it.

A woman staggered out from the kitchen and leaned heavily on the doorframe to glare at her teenage daughter. "I see you came home eventually. What kept you?" the woman slurred her demand.

Nellie pushed past her, grabbed the kettle and filled it full with water. "I had a detention, didn't I?" she admitted.

"What for this time?" the woman sneered. "Will I be getting another phone call from the Education Welfare Officer?"

"No, of course not," Nellie denied as she switched the kettle on. "Have you eaten today?"

"I dunno." The woman awkwardly shrugged, completely unrepentant that she didn't know; and then caught sight of Peter standing there hesitantly in the hallway. "Who are you?"

"Mum!" Nellie admonished her as Peter answered with his name.

"Peter," the woman repeated. "What's your full name?"

Why did she want to know that? He obediently answered, "Peter Henry Vincent."

"Henry!" Nellie snickered to herself. "Do you take sugar in your coffee, Henry?"

"Two please," he replied, blushing with embarrassment. Her mum must have only wanted his surname, he realised.

"I'll have mine in the living room, and you can start on the potatoes," Nellie's mum ordered as she launched herself towards the right room and almost made through the doorway in one go. "'Neighbours' will be on soon."

"Yeah, 'cause you can't miss knowing what Charlene and Scott are up to," Nellie quietly remarked with contempt before busying herself with stirring mugs of coffee. "Won't be a second," she threw at Peter as she wandered off with her mum's coffee.

He stood looking at the two mugs still sitting on the kitchen worktop, trying to figure out which one was his. He jumped when she placed her hands on his back and whispered, "Boo!"

She openly laughed at him and then slid a mug towards him. "That's your one. Is there enough milk in it?"

"Yes, it's fine," he automatically responded, and then lowered his voice. "What's wrong with your mum?"

Nellie cast a glance towards the hallway before answering in a whisper, "What ain't?" She then changed the subject, not wanting to discuss the effects of living with alcoholism. Nobody needed to know. "Do you live far from here?"

"Just the other side of the town centre; Laindon, in Alcatraz," he supplied.

They exchanged a consoling look. Everyone knew of the council estate that had been dubbed an instant slum when it was built and given the derogatory nickname. He sipped the coffee and found it okay; he'd had far worse.

"Do you have a job?" she asked as she then bustled about, pulling out potatoes to put into the sink to peel.

"I work Saturdays in Savacentre. What about you?" he asked.

"I'm in Superdrug. On the till, but I've applied to Samuels the jewellers."

"Nice," he commented, and drank until he had drained his mug. "I'd better go and let you get on with your spuds."

"Oh, okay," she replied with disappointment, and hastily dried her hands. "Dad will be home soon anyway." She saw Peter to the front door, but paused when they reached it, keeping her hand on it, unopened. "I suppose I'll see you at school."

This was his cue to ask her out. "We could meet up, if you like?"

She smiled back. "I'd like that." Then she waited.

"Bye then," he whispered, and leaned towards her, relieved to see her lean in too. Their lips clumsily met in a brief kiss, but he wasn't giving up yet. He raised his hands to cradle her jaw, and tried the kiss again. This time it went much better.


End file.
